Racism is back on the streets

A ring-pull moment unleashes violence, what can be done?

Krish Kandiah

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

Rioters confront police, one wearing a sinister Union Jack mask

Racist violence is back on the streets of Britain. Some say it never went away in the first place. Never mind that we have just had our first brown Prime Minister or that we have the most diverse cabinet in history. Just listen to the chants on the streets, watch a viral video of a lone black or Asian man being kicked to the ground by a gang of white men, or read the graffiti on the sides of hotels housing asylum-seekers who fled the Taliban because they dared to help the British army. Talk to those who feel afraid - most will agree: racist violence is back and it is unacceptable.

The riots on the streets of cities around the UK brings back all too painfully for me the memory of those dark corners of my school yard where I was trapped by bullies throwing insults and punches in my direction, just because my skin colour was different. Now once again, I, along with my friends and family, and all communities of colour, are beginning to think twice before we leave our homes or walk down our streets.

Back when I was just that kid in the playground, I once opened a can of cola that, unbeknown to me, had been shaken vigorously. As I heard the crack of the ring pull, I was immediately drenched by a fountain of black sugary liquid and an eruption of cruel laughter. That humiliating event of my childhood perhaps offers an insight into what is going on in the UK right now: the tragic incident on Hart Road in Southport where three young girls were murdered was the ring-pull moment that has unleashed the bottled-up frustration of disaffected people around the country – a frustration which has been deliberately and openly stirred up through divisive rhetoric over many years.

Cultural Christians are more unsympathetic to asylum-seekers than any other group of immigrants.

It is not only the rioters who are to blame for this wave of violence. We must also hold accountable those who have been shaking the can. Those who have stirred up anti-immigration sentiment for personal gain, spreading lies and misinformation. Those who have tried to win votes and build careers and influence or grab headlines by scapegoating those who have lost everything and sought sanctuary in the UK. Those who have not questioned as we have drained resources out of schools, cut youth services and failed to provide affordable housing or realistic job prospects. Those who have assimilated a hostility towards asylum-seekers.

Sadly, the can has also been shaken by some who call themselves Christians. Recent protesters in London have been heard using anti-Islamic rhetoric alongside their chants that “Christ is King”. A small number of Christian influencers have consistently contributed to the anti-immigration stance and undermined the importance of diversity and multiculturalism. Data from the Faith and Religion thinktank Theos reveals that cultural Christians are more unsympathetic to asylum-seekers than any other group of immigrants. This despite all the incredible amount the church in the UK has done to lead the way in the welcome of new arrivals from Hong Kong, Afghanistan, Syria and Ukraine. More poignantly, the hostility stands in stark contrast to the Christian virtue of hospitality that permeates every book of the Bible, and every moment of Jesus’ life and teaching.

Racism is unacceptable, and there is a part for all of us to play in ensuring that this message is heard loud and clear. For a start we can refuse to turn a blind eye and pretend it is nothing to do with us. We can challenge anti-immigrant rhetoric. We can counter misinformation with truth. We can choose to deescalate violence and defend those who have become targets and clamp down on those who stir up hate. We can show support for all those who are seeking to keep the peace, and we can choose to foster a more inclusive, generous and compassionate society every day with our words and actions.

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Morality

Music

21 October 2024

2 min read

Do we feel guilt for Liam Payne’s death?

We want the celebrity world to exist, but it returns terrible violence.

Jack Chisnall

Jack Chisnall is a former gag teller and Oxford Theology graduate, combining the two at Holy Fooling.

A crowd of teenagers gather by a Peter Pan statue to mourn a dead pop star

A fan vigil beside a Peter Pan Statue, London.

Sky News.

It’s no secret that fame is a poisoned chalice. Those reading about Liam Payne, the former One Direction star who died last week, will have noticed the theme: denied privacy, loaded with unbearable expectations, in a milieu where illegal substances were too much to hand - what chance did he have? The word ‘tragedy’ is scattered across multiple headlines.

One young Telegraph writer sees it as a generational trauma: “our first celebrity-induced reminder that life can be cruel, and fleeting”. Formerly Elvis, or John Lennon, now Payne; plus ça change. But what really haunts our society about Payne’s death is not a feeling it was unavoidable. It is, rather, our guilt: did we do this? Our rapacious appetites, consumer needs, and reckless licensing of rock-’n-roll form - did we tie this teen idol to the sacrificial altar?

Religious language is not inappropriate: thousands in cities around the world are holding vigils to Payne’s memory, and these shrines would have interested René Girard, who had a theory about how society works. While staying “a few pages ahead of the students” in French novels at Indiana University during the late 1950s, Girard noticed that humans want things, but not because of innate desires. We want things because other humans want them. There is always this undercurrent of rivalry to our world, even amongst close friends - in fact, especially for those whose goals are most similar.

What becomes of this collective aggression? It has to be banished through scapegoating. It’s everyone against one; a victim is butchered. For Girard, culture is what happens when a group achieves temporary peace in the wake of a sacrificial death. The bubble of built-up tension has burst, and an epoch of nonviolence means we get on with civilisation. We raise the kids, build some structures, or write a poem.

Religious mourning for Payne reveals these sacrificial contours of our culture. We want the celebrity world to exist, for its fantasies, desirable bodies, and danger. But it returns terrible violence - exploitation, harassment, and rejection (Payne’s own solo career had not kept him at the thrilling toppermost of the chart). The death of a victim sobers us up, momentarily, from our intoxication. But how long until we repeat it again?

Girard converted to Catholicism in 1959, after he encountered in the Gospels a religion that acknowledged these human trends, and offered a solution. It still required imitation - of Jesus Christ - but without the threat of rivalry. But in the crucifixion was a scapegoating that did not seem to leave things open to repetition. It had finished something, for good. Sunday morning yielded a new kind of peace.